Tell Me, O Muse
by NeverLookBack756
Summary: Killian joins the Greeks fighting a raging battle against the Trojans, hoping the glory will fill the void in his heart. When he argues with the hero Odysseus, he is ejected from the Trojan Horse and into the arms of a lonely, devastated Queen Emma. Killian begins to wonder if the glory of a hero compares to the feeling of falling in love and finding one's true self. (Trojan War AU


Killian blinked a few times, hoping to clear his sight and get a better view of the angel hovering over him. Or maybe it wasn't an angel. Perhaps it was Aphrodite herself! Nothing else would explain the image of perfect beauty poised over him with a concerned look in her eyes. Killian dreamt that this victory against Troy would bring him treasures, more riches than he could hold in his hand, but the sparkling emeralds in her eyes were enough. The excruciating hours inside that bloody wooden horse jammed against vile men were entirely worth it.

She simply _had_ to be Aphrodite.

Of course, he hadn't pictured that the goddess would cover herself in a dark woolen robe when he met her, either, but he didn't mind in the slightest. When their eyes met, he noticed her lips lift in what must've been a smile that lit the stars at night which navigated him home. Her cheeks rose like sweet apples, flushed because of the spreading fire around them as the city burned.

After stumbling to remove his helmet, the goddess assessed the damage done to him by running a soft hand through his hair and sweeping it away from his sweaty face. If he wasn't so tired, he would've nuzzled into her touch, but it was all he could do to keep his eyes open to watch her. When she pulled her fingers back, they were covered in his blood, sticky and crimson on her porcelain skin.

A tingling sensation surged through Killian as his exhaustion won the battle and slowly his eyes fluttered shut. In one last attempt to keep her near to him, his fingers trembled in her direction. The moment she grabbed them, Killian allowed himself to be pulled down to Hades.

.

Strangely though, when Killian woke, it wasn't Hades gripping his hand. His vision blurred, needing to adjust to the new light, but the touch felt so familiar he didn't need to look to know who it was.

"Aphrodite..." Killian murmured. A weight near his side lifted, like someone was resting their head against his leg, the sound startling his companion awake. A few seconds later, a wave washed through his vision, and his ethereal goddess was with him again, only this time he could get a better look at her.

The first thing he noticed was the furrow in her eyebrows that complimented the glint in her eye that was half-part very confused, but also extremely amused in an endearing kind of way. Without thinking, Killian mirrored her and raised his own brow, anxiously awaiting to hear her speak. What would a goddess sound like? Would she tell him he was in Elysium? Or perhaps she had been sent to break the terrible news that he'd be forced to wander the Fields of Asphodel for the rest of his existence as a soul with no purpose or fulfillment. And he did not want to think about if she were to tell him he would be heading to the much worse Tartarus for eternal punishment. Stories had told that Hades was not a forgiving man.

"I'm afraid you're mistaken," she spoke softly with a hint of fondness. "I'm no goddess."

Killian could not help but be surprised. Were there truly human women this magnificent? Women that shone like the sun, moon, and endless sea of stars combined? A nudging feeling in his heart told him it was only this particular one.

"Do not seem so taken aback," she murmured in a low, sheepish tone. "I am nothing special."

"I do hate to disagree, but you seem to be unaware of how lovely you are," he croaked. His throat was raw with irritation, something that probably came from breathing in too much smoke. His savior averted her eyes from his, like it burned to look too deeply.

"You nearly died out there," she said, choosing to ignore his obvious adoration. Just as it seemed like she would bite her tongue and hold back further explanation, she added, "Along with everyone else." Killian assumed that by _everyone else,_ she really meant the Trojans.

"Does that mean we have won?" Killian asked hopefully. With sheer luck and favor from the gods, perhaps Odysseus' plan ended up working after all. Killian was the only one who spoke up to question the legitimacy of a plan that involved a giant wooden horse as the main factor, and as a result, he was ejected from the horse and left for dead in the beginning of the battle.

A dark shadow clouded over the woman's lovely face, causing Killian's heart to clench in pain from the possibility that the Greeks, his people, had lost after all. But it paled in comparison to the broken devastation in he saw hinted in her soul.

"Troy has fallen," she stated sharply, as if the words pierced her very being with the sharpest of blades.

It was then that Killian realized an assortment of things all that once in one massive jolt. This woman was _not_ Greek like he was, and he was quite stupid to think she would be. Perhaps he hoped that she had brought him home, but much to his dismay, he was still in Troy. Her fine silks, the shiny ivory pillars that held the high ceiling above him, and the golden wreath across her head sent to him one clear message.

While his savior was not the goddess Aphrodite, she was, however, the ever-astounding Queen Emma of Troy, over whom this entire war had been started. He had marched over hell and sailed through high water just to tear her city down, and until that moment, it had never felt so utterly _wrong._

Killian jolted away from Emma, inching back as far away as he could. His mind raced at a million miles a second, his heart torn in two.

"Queen Emma," he whispered. "You should have let me die. I am one of them." One of the Greeks, he wanted to say, but he couldn't. He couldn't make it real.

The queen reached out for his hand - his right, as the other one had been lost in a distant battle- and squeezed gently, careful not to crush any of his bruises or cuts.

"I know," she admitted.

"Then why accept me in your home?"

"Because I watched from my window as they threw you out of the horse's head. When I asked why the warriors were so cruel to even their own men, they told me that you hesitated to join the brave Odysseus in his preposterous plan."

Killian felt the desire to shrink into a tiny insect that could be squashed beneath the boot of a passerby, a quick and painless death to match his cowardly personality. Hearing the queen speak it was particularly difficult.

"Do not misunderstand," the queen continued. "I am not keeping you here as a war prisoner, or even as an example to torture in front of my people to give them faith."

Killian clenched his hand and dug his stump behind him, ignoring the dull ache that resulted.

"Enlighten me, your Majesty. Why are you keeping me?"

Regality lit in the queen's eyes, her blonde curls glimmering a gold brighter, more exuberant than her wreath. Hers was the face of a woman determined, confident, and strong. He'd seen the same expression on the faces of his fellow warriors, driven to fight for what they wanted and unable to sleep until they succeeded. This was different though, because the queen could not have possibly wanted him, a lowly fighter whose sole purpose was to increase the soldier count.

"It must take a very special man to go against a hero chosen by the gods because of personal doubt and logic. An even more courageous one to speak his thoughts, and brave being thrown from a wooden horse because of it."

Killian wasn't sure if he wanted to accept the compliment or not, but her amazement of him made him want to stare at her forever, study her like an ancient text until he knew every intricate detail. He nodded at her to continue, still a fraction confused at her interest.

"I am merely intrigued. I intend to nurse you back to health in return for your goodness." Killian gawked.

"What _goodness?"_ This woman, while devastatingly beautiful, was mad beyond reason! How could she find goodness in a man who was only in her town to destroy it? Murder her people and ruin her crops! Why should she nurse him back to health when he was done nothing for her.

Then again, he never truly wanted to become a barbarian, and it was when he voiced this that he was thrown out of the horse. So maybe he never wanted to destroy Troy, but it still was not cause for the queen to be helping him when she should've been helping her people.

Ignoring his incredulous inquiry, Queen Emma turned from his side and began toward the door, having gone from regular woman back to uptight royalty in only moments. As she walked away she said in a sharp tone, "At any rate, taking care of you will help me take my mind off of my grief and devastation, if only for a little while."

Killian understood. The queen, powerful and gorgeous beyond measure, was feeling helpless. Of all people! He hardly could blame her, though. Unlike most people who would have time to properly work through their sorrows, the queen would have to work on a retaliation plan, or at least a plan to rebuild what had been lost. She had to work fast if she wanted to save what was left of Troy before the Greeks took even her own home, and eventually her crown. Who knew when they would strike?

If she was unable to keep her enemy from the palace, all would be lost, and she would lose everything. Her crown, her people, all of it. Killian knew exactly what that felt like.

She waited in the doorway watching as the realization covered his face. Their eyes met for a fracture of a second, before she spun off, her long silk gown and golden curls trailing behind her in one captivating whirl.

Over the next couple days, the queen was an incredibly busy woman. Killian would never speak it outloud, but in the endless hours he laid in bed, he waited for her. He told himself that it was all for her, he wanted to ease her suffering and give her a friend she could count on during the tragedy, but his inner self knew better. Not only was he feeling guilty for taking part in such an extreme evil, but his heart ached for her company. The only way for the throbbing pain in his chest to be relieved was if he was with her.

When she did pay a visit, he did not comment on how her utter exhaustion made her body sag or how tears she probably shed alone still left shimmery traces on her cheeks. Instead, he offered a soft smile and simply said, "Your Highness, you look positively brilliant this evening."

It might've been embarassment that hinted her soft smile, but he didn't care. It had not been a lie.

"To what do I owe this immense pleasure?" he asked as she sat at his bedside. Her eyes searched over him for signs of improvement, and while they were surely there, they were subtle.

"I had hoped to learn more about the greek I was hiding in my guest quarters." Killian's heart clenched in something akin to longing. It had been a very long time since anyone had asked about him and his humble beginnings. Normally he was not open to share, but with Queen Emma, he found himself wanting to pour out anything she desired to know.

"Like what, highness?"

"Perhaps your name would be a pleasant start," she replied with a slight chuckle. Rose tinted Killian's cheeks. In his time alone, he had contemplated giving himself completely to her, fighting in her army instead. The queen's happiness was worth the inevitable dishonor that would follow his change in allegiance, but with all this planned, she still did not know his name!

"Killian," he offered softly. Her eyes brightened, as if the information was everything she ever wanted to know.

"And you're the son of?" Killian doubted that his lineage played any role in the queen's interest in him, but rather she was simply curious. She probably would not have asked if she knew how nasty the memory of his father churned his insides.

"A man even less worthy of acknowledgement than I." He had not meant to sound so bitter as he said it.

"Simply Killian, is it then?" she asked. Hope arose in Killian's chest. "Not Killian, son of an obviously unworthy dunce, or Killian the Greek Warrior who was ejected from his own warrior horse, but... just Killian."

"Your Majesty," Killian started. He didn't want to get ahead of himself, but he _needed_ to know. "It would seem you're giving me a clean slate, a new identity." The queen considered this, not unhappy with the implications of what a new identity could mean for Killian.

"It would seem so. But I trust that the man inside, the raw being of your very soul, will remain intact."

The words burned into his flesh as scorching as her gaze on him. If he would leave his past and titles behind, and simply remain himself, the queen would be pleased. He wanted nothing more.

Not a single person in Killian's previous acquaintance had ever wanted just Killian. There was always something to be gained in return, like a slave on a ship or a warrior in an army. He did not care if this woman was the queen of the land he thought he wanted to destroy. Hades below! He wouldn't care if she wanted to burn the entire bloody earth into dust. Queen Emma was a just ruler, one that he would follow to the ends of the world, or time, if the fates allowed.

Still weakened from his injury, Killian slid his feet off the bed and placed them on swept floor of her palace. The frailty in his legs made it difficult for him to support his weight for longer than a few moments, so he knelt onto a knee that wasn't injured and bowed his head.

"What are you doing?" Emma asked, a bit surprised to find him.

"Queen Emma of Troy," Killian started, praying to the gods that his voice would hold out long enough for him to declare his proclamation. "I hereby pledge to you my fealty, no matter what conflict should occur between Troy and the Greeks. I will follow you, and be your humble servant, as long as you shall have me."

Her gentle hand gave him courage to look up. His heart melted when he saw warmth in her eyes as she gazed upon him.

"You are not a usual man," Emma commented quietly. "I must say, I find it to be quite refreshing."

He leaned into her just a little as she helped him to his feet, her fingers burning sweet tingling burns into his skin where she touched his arm, shoulder, and elbow.

"I simply believe in good form."

The queen's eyes drifted toward the arched window in the corner of his room where smoke could still be seen burning along the hillside and into the mountaintop. Much of what rested closer had already been diminished to ash and rubble, and what was left intact sheltered frightened people who held little hope of surviving the next few weeks before the Greeks ruined everything again.

A war fought so brutally between warriors, and for what?

"Killian, you'd be surprised the staggering amount of men who would toss good form into the endless ocean for a few gold pieces and a warrior's return home."

Without warning, the queen pressed her forehead into his shoulder for a second, as if she was trying to remove some of the weight off of her shoulders. The instant gravity of her pressure was overwhelming, but Killian did his best to steady her. He barely knew her at all, but here she was, vulnerable and weak.

The queen seemed to realize this, because in seconds, she was tearing herself away from him and bolting out of the door without a second look back, leaving Killian to hobble his way back to bed by himself. The air was cold again.

Killian had not seen the queen since their last awkward interaction, leaving Killian alone in the queen's guest chambers for nearly four days. Occasionally he was greeted by one of her servants - there were few left after the fall of Troy - who would offer him a sad smile and hand him what little food they could afford him for the day.

It made him wonder if the queen herself was eating properly.

There were some moments when he regretted promising the queen that he would stay loyal to her, because palace air was not only laced with remaining traces of smoke and destruction, but it also seemed to be getting hotter with every passing day. It was during those times that Killian wanted nothing more than to jump out of bed and sprint down to the docks where he expected some Greek ships to be waiting for him.

That was the most naive wishful thinking that Killian had ever indulged. Not only could he barely walk without assistance, but he was sure most of the Greeks had long since boarded the ships back home to celebrate their victory. It was impossible that they would've waited for him, or that the heroes who stayed behind to make sure their victory stayed solidified would ever accept him back into their army.

Just when the pessimistic thoughts were about to consume him whole, the queen visited.

She hid herself from him by standing behind the doorway, arms crossed and gaze lowered. Killian couldn't tell if she was nervous, grieving, ashamed, or perhaps a combination of all three. He wasn't happy to find that she was beginning to look ill, pale and haggard, and felt a pang of guilt when he remembered the large meal he had eaten without worry earlier in the morning. When was the last time Queen Emma had eaten?

"You may come in Your Highness," Killian offered weakly, but the queen didn't budge.

"How are you feeling, Killian?" she asked.

"Much better, I assure you. Your servants have taken superb care of me, but I find that your company is medicine not even the best apothecary could create."

A pink tinge rose on her cheeks, one that Killian loved seeing, especially when it started at her ears and traversed all the way down to the peaks of her breasts.

Without thinking, Killian reached a hand out, as if to call her over to him. And without thinking, she came to his side and grasped his hand. What the touch meant to her, he was not sure. Was she interpreting this as simply support to a friend, respect to royalty...or maybe, just maybe, something more?

"Can you walk?" she asked him. When she moved from simply grasping his fingers to weaving their fingers together, Killian's heart raced. They fit together, like a perfectly woven tapestry made of both strung gold and black silk.

"I've not tried. Perhaps with some assistance?" The flirtatious cock of his eyebrow masked his embarrassment for needing help.

Offering an arm and a genuine smile, Emma said, "Let's walk in the gardens."

Emma passed time with Killian in the gardens for nearly two fortnights. It was the only time she could relax, the anticipation of the greek's final attack on her palace looming over her head, the constant threat making her anxious.

All her anxiety would immediately flee her body the moment she fell into familiar beautiful ocean blue eyes. His presence had grown to be refuge and antidote for her mental plagues. He was the only thing that could inspire hope within her, and it started like a budding blossom within her heart. Warm and comfortable, like sleeping beneath the stars without a care in the world.

When the walks in the garden first began, it was awkward because Killian couldn't walk without much help and conversation simply wouldn't form between them.

"Where would you be if you weren't queen?" Killian had finally asked on that first day. Emma scoffed passively.

"I _am_ queen. I cannot imagine life without my responsibilities."

"Highness, I know a thing or two about responsibility. I know that sometimes, our duties aren't really what we desire. What is it your heart desires to be?" Killian leaned in close, and it succeeded in coaxing the answer right from her lips. He breathed it in as she spoke with a deep inhale.

"A mother. A _real_ mother. Maybe a wife too? With a husband I love." Emma blushed at that part, catching Killian's eyes. The image of Killian as her husband was too tempting to be entertained for too long. "We'd travel around the world and see different things. I definitely would not be restricted behind palace walls."

"But where would you call home?" Killian asked, eyes boring galaxies into hers. Perhaps in his heart, he was hoping home would be within reasonable distance of him.

With a breathy sigh, Emma answered, "Anywhere with the ones I love is home." Killian definitely hoped that her home would be near to him. After all, it would mean that she loved him.

"I'd like you to call me Emma," she declared without warning. Killian blushed, for in his head he'd be referring to her without any sort of titles.

"I do believe I'd like that very much," he stated with a cheeky smile. She nudged him and he added, "Emma."

That was weeks ago, and their friendship had already grown. In fact, it had already been grown past size Killian thought was possible. When they walked together now, Emma would be close to his side, cheek on his shoulder. The gold leaves of her head wreath would tickle against his cheek, rising laughter from his chest that only caused the queen to giggle along with him.

Walks would turn into resting in the grass, as Emma informed Killian of her last plans to try to help and feed her people. The Greeks were making it increasingly difficult to take back her city, getting closer with each day.

Even though most of Troy had already fallen, Emma was still not giving up. Both her and Killian knew it would be less than a week before she would finally have to give up her crown.

On a particularly sad day, Emma asked him where he would go once she was forced to finally give up. The sad look in her eyes made Killian's heart ache hard and dull. He tried to mirror hope to her when he answered, "Wherever you go, Emma."

Now, as the sun was setting behind the trees, the air was tense. Not because of any strains in their relationship, but because Emma knew it would all be over within days.

She settled into Killian, leaning her head on his knees. He was surprised for a moment, but then simply removed the wreath from her head and began to run his fingers through her hair close to her scalp.

"You've done all you can," he murmured. Emma turned away from him so he wouldn't see how shattered she was.

"It wasn't enough." He could hear the tears in her voice, and felt them as they plopped onto the cotton of his pants. Still, his fingers didn't stop their work soothing her with gentle massages.

" _You_ are enough though. You cannot blame yourself simply because the greeks offered the gods better sacrifices. You know we are only pawns in their own personal game, and it is not by any fault of yours." Emma wondered if begging would make the gods perform a miracle.

"There is one good thing that arose out of this war," Emma said, turning back to face Killian.

"I cannot fathom what that would be, but by all means, share!"

Emma shook her head, lifting herself off his lap. "It is a secret!" She began to stand up, but paused when Killian reached out to grab a strand of her sunny gold hair and twisted it between his fingers.

"Meeting you, Emma, is not only the happiest thing that has happened to me during this cursed war, but in many _many_ years as well."

Emma was tempted to lean into his touch, and let him caress her soft cheeks. She had learned so much about this man, and she knew he was being genuine. She thought of the things he had told her. He'd told her the story how his father left him and his brother praying in the temple of the holy goddess Demeter, because the matron goddess would surely look after two children forgotten by their own father. He told her how his brother, a high ranking hero, had been poisoned out of spite by a fellow soldier, simply because Liam was considered a tad bit prideful.

Killian had lived through it all, abandonment and war. Loss after loss, each one worse than the last. Turning her head to press a kiss to his fingers, Emma vowed that Killian wouldn't have to lose her too.

She also knew that he wouldn't leave her, either. She may have to leave behind every ounce of her happiness, her success, her power, but at least she would still have him. Everything paled in comparison when she thought of it that way.

Maybe, she even loved him a little.

Maybe, he did too, for it was he who came to her room, a striking contrast since normally she was the one cowering in his doorway, quietly asking for him to lend his company. But Killian did not cower.

He stood right in the middle of the doorway, the way a warrior would facing his last trial. Though only a few warm torches lit the darkness brought by the nighttime hours, Emma could still make out the inferno blazing behind his eyes. It was simmering higher and higher, like he would combust if it were not released.

She recognized each emotion one at a time as she stared back at him. Longing, desire, a hint of lust, and something that looked much like...love.

When his eyes lit up, Emma realized she must've been reflecting the same look in her own gaze.

She gently moved off her bed and began to take slow, meaningful steps toward him. She examined him like he was a newly discovered treasure, unpredictable but ever-so valuable.

His muscles weren't as strong as they were when she first met him, days in bed weakening him, but she could still see the way the light reflected off of every curvature in his body. He was lean, strong, not to mention incredibly handsome. It was not any easier that he was looking at her like she was Aphrodite before him.

"The days are soon arriving when we will have to leave," Killian said. Emma continued her slow saunter over to him.

"I have been preparing myself," she said in a trancelike voice. Right then, there was only Killian. No broken cities, no oceans of bloodshed, only the sweet man before her. She craved his touch in tingling sensations dancing on her arm.

"But I am not ready," he counters. Her confused expression sends make him close the distance between them until they are only mere inches apart from one another. "Every moment I am overwhelmed with the thoughts of what our life will be like together after we leave this castle. What we'll create together. But I cannot go through with it if it is only as your close companion."

Emma stared back, a bit horrified that he would suggest leaving her. Part of her was hopeful, though, because she knew he wouldn't be a simple traveling companion. She is about to speak when he begins again.

"Perhaps that is not true." His eyes dart to the floor. "I would follow you anywhere, even if you came to hate me. I would need to know you're safe, alive, and most importantly, happy. But Emma, my dearest, it would be agony. To have a heart so full of love for you and not be able to hold you, worship you."

Emma's head fell into his chest, his voice a drug making it difficult to breathe. She felt his face nuzzle into the crevice of her neck, and when she leaned more into his touch, he began pressing silky kiss along the sensitive skin.

"You love me?" she choked. She was brimming with something overwhelming and breathtaking, but it was warm and happy.

"Aye, with every shred of my existence."

Emma closed her eyes as his lips peppered kisses into her skin. Perhaps what was said was also true. When life tears you limb from limb, leaves you tattered in your own despair and agony, it also gives you something to balance the pain. Killian's presence was exactly the soothing kind of love she'd always wanted and never truly received.

Shaky hands pulled Killian's face away from her neck. They stared into each other's deepest beings before meeting in the touch of their lips.

The kiss was as fiery as Hades' inferno, yet as gentle as Poseidon's waves. Killian moved all at once, deepening their kiss while wrapping his strong arms around her waist until she was pressed up fully against him. Emma moved in fragments, too weak and melted to focus on more than one thing at a time. First her lips fought to meet his at each chance they could, tongues dancing around in intricate patterns. Then her hands found the hairs on the back of his neck, and then the scruff lining his cheeks. Her fingers clawed down his back, causing a moan to escape his lips.

"You love me," she breathed, the words escaping as an affirmation. She could feel it, too. Killian loved her so fervently, that Emma was drowning in him.

"Aye," he breathed, sounding equally as shattered apart as she felt.

"And I love you," Emma whispered.

Killian snapped. His hand reached around her legs, his stubbed arm supporting her back upright, and suddenly she was in the air. She didn't feel any different, only higher on the clouds she was already floating on. Now she was in the stars. Her trust was in him entirely as he lowered onto her mattress and hovered over her. He studied her, not hiding his admiration anymore, then leaned down to continue his kisses.

His work this time included a hand untying the belts keeping her white dress in place and tugging on the sleeves until she was exposed before him bare. Emma had already slipped his own shirt over his head, melting against the feeling of his exposed skin pressed to her.

"Tell me, o Muse. What did I do to deserve the goddess lying before me."

Heat rose up from the tops of Emma's breasts to the tips of her ears, but was unable to tell if it was lust or embarrassment. Emma knew exactly what he had done. He followed his heart, and it led him directly to her.

The stars swept through the sky, mirroring Killian and Emma's intimate dance, but they were far too lost in each other's embrace to care.

When the sun rose, they could not bask in their warm embrace. At the palace steps, the greeks had finally breeched into Emma's home. It was no longer hers, and Troy was gone.

Even though it stung to leave her old home behind, a dull ache that never went away, Emma knew that her true home was with her, running through the woods with his hand in hers.

Queen Emma's surrender meant that her life as Simply Emma began.

Simply Killian and Simply Emma could not think of anything they wanted more than to start their lives together. And maybe it would be unexpected, a little hard at times, perhaps. But it would be theirs.

They settled in a land called Misthaven, which was looking for a strong leader to build it up from the dirt and ashes of its fall.

Killian turned to face the woman beside him. He knew her as Emma, his new wife, his dearest love, and now, his new queen. He loved her more every day, and they grew along with Misthaven to be one of the most powerful kingdoms within traveling distance.

And he believed, the fates had it planned all along.


End file.
